Turn My World
by burningbright
Summary: JS, rated for language. Jareth hasn't seen Sarah in three years, but something is happening to bring the two together again…
1. Go And Do A Thing Like That

A Tower In Ruins

It had started as a game. A silly game with a mortal girl- a pretty, intriguing little thing.

Jareth allowed a bitter laugh to escape his lips. A few of the goblins scurrying ineffectually around the ruins of the west tower turned and looked nervously at him for a moment, retreating in fright at his answering glare.

For most of Sarah's trip through the Labyrinth, it _had_ been a game. But at some point, the temptation and seduction which had been part of the game had become more than that for him. In the end, when he should have tried hardest to stop her, he had allowed Sarah to reach Toby and say the words. --_"You have no power over me". Ah, sweet Sarah, I only wish I could say the same of you_.--

That night, safe at home in her bedroom, she had said she needed all of them. However, although she often called for the others- especially Hoggle, Ludo, and Sir Didymus- she never called for him, although at first he had been sure she was attracted to him. As things stood, he hadn't been near her or even seen her for three years. Not that he hadn't tried, but she became disturbed when he watched her in the crystals or when he was present in his owl form, constantly turning to look around herself as though she knew someone was watching her. After only a few failed attempts he stopped and forced himself to be content with whatever his subjects could find out on their visits.

Heaving a sigh, Jareth shook himself out of his reverie and began to shift yet more of the rubble of his castle so the goblins could cart it away.

* * *

A Breath On The Wind

Sarah Williams pushed her was through the crowds thronging the Renaissance Faire, skirts gathered close to her body, trying to hurry while staying in character. With a sigh of relief, the young re-enactor slipped out of the crowd and into the relative quiet of the staff hideout, which bore a sign labeling it The Drunken Scotsman. Once upon a time it had probably been a Faire attraction like so many other taverns, but the small sign, closed-in architecture, and lack of numerous busty (and scantily clad) wenches meant that not one Faire-goer had set foot in it this season. This suited the staff and volunteers perfectly, for it gave them not only a place to rest and drop character for a bit, but also a sort of unofficial headquarters.

Sarah drew a tankard of lemonade- the tankards held more than a normal cup, a decided advantage in her eyes- and sank down onto a blessedly padded chair with a groan.

"Look on the bright side, hon. At least you can't get splinters in your ass from those damn log benches through all the clothes you're wearing." Sarah's friend Jenn said, grinning unrepentantly as she grabbed another chair and sat down on the other side of the table- rather gingerly, Sarah noted with a certain grim satisfaction.

"I don't think I'd mind splinters too much at the moment. In fact, I'd be happy to have a few, since that would mean I'd gotten a chance to sit down since eight o'clock this morning." Sighing, Sarah leaned farther back in her chair, closing her eyes. --_lost without your heartbeat_-- Sarah jerked upright, her eyes flying open as she looked sharply around.

"...and then he tried to pinch my- Sarah? Are you ok?" Jenn looked at her with concern. She'd known Sarah was zoning, but she looked like she'd just seen a ghost.

"It's... nothing. I just thought I heard... heard-" Sarah trailed off, staring into space as though she was seeing something no one else could. Her lips shaped a name, and a bare breath of air gave it voice. "...Jareth... ."

* * *

A chunk of staircase crashed to the ground, but Jareth didn't notice. For the first time in three years, he had heard Sarah's voice… and she had said his name. He sat abruptly on the nearest piece of masonry, blind and deaf to the world around him for a moment. Was she calling him? If she wasn't, should he go anyway? He wanted to go- gods, how he wanted to go to her- but she didn't sound as if she was calling him. For now, it would have to be enough that she was thinking of him. At least she didn't sound as if she hated him. 

Jareth stood up and brushed himself off, frowning at the disarray of his attire. He conjured a crystal and sent it to find his valet. A few minutes later, he was once again immaculately clothed- it would not do to be ill-dressed, when he might be called away at any moment. He turned back to the work at hand, levitating the huge broken sections of stone that no team of goblins could lift, and settling them into place to reconstruct his castle. Two and a half years of steady work had restored most of the castle to its original state, save for the tallest towers… and the Escher Room. He had been putting that particular room off for as long as possible, not wanting to be faced with the memories it would evoke, but unable think of anything else to fill the space it had occupied. Well, perhaps some solution would materialize by the time he finished work on the towers.

* * *

Sarah waved goodbye to the last of the Faire-goers with a quiet sigh of relief. It had been a week since she had heard that haunting scrap of melody from her past, and Jareth had been more and more on her mind. Now that the Faire was shutting down for the winter, she would finally be able to get some time on her own to think. She would even be able to stay at the campsite for a few more days until she had to pack up and return to her tiny apartment. A long walk in the woods would be just the thing to help sort her mind out… but first, a change of clothes was in order. She gathered up her heavy skirts so that she could move more quickly- 

-and suddenly all she could see was that final moment in the Labyrinth, the look in Jareth's eyes that she had never been able to understand. And then he was gone, and all that was left were falling, fluttering strips of cream-colored fabric. She reached out to grasp one, driven by the urge to hold on to something of him, of this vision- and her hand met the flap of her tent. She didn't remember anything of the walk there. Numbly, she opened the flap and, feeling something trickling down her cheek, reached up to touch her face. Had she run into something on the way here? She drew her hand away, expecting to see blood, but there was only water. Tears. As she sat down on her tiny chair they kept coming, faster and faster, until she gave in and wept her heart out, although she wasn't sure why.

Reaching up with her other hand for a tissue, she felt something brush her arm. She froze in shock as she looked up. Tangled around her hand and wrist was a strip of cream silk.


	2. A Pale Jewel

Jareth woke with a start. He'd been having yet another dream of his defeat. This one had been different, though. The Sarah of this dream had looked older, and a little tired. Not just that—although she'd said the words, she hadn't seemed so blindly certain. She'd looked confused and almost wistful, and he thought that he'd seen her reaching out towards him just as everything fell apart and the dream ended.

He twisted and turned in his massive bed, trying to get back to sleep. Finally he gave up and decided to run through some of the most basic magical exercises he knew, hoping that their familiar simplicity would soothe him into sleep. His breathing slowed as he slipped into a light trance, the memory of his old tutor's words echoing in his mind.

-_"Pay close attention, boy. These are quite probably some of the most important spells you will ever learn." The unruly youth snorted doubtfully at the old man's words, and earned himself a sharp rap across the knuckles. "Yes indeed. A mage's self-knowledge is his most important weapon, and his most vital defense. Without the ability to monitor your own magical powers, and indeed your very being, you will be easily defeated by the lowest hedge-wizard, and used by any mage unscrupulous enough to wrest power from your unshielded mind. And don't think there aren't plenty of those."_-

It had taken only one humiliating defeat at the hands of his father's Seneschal, who hadn't even enough magic to be considered a hedge-wizard, to convince the young man that his teacher was right, and Jareth had practiced these small magics regularly ever since. Now he wandered through the inner landscape of self and power idly, having completed a serious examination less than a week ago.

Then, as he drifted past the dancing lights that symbolized the joining of his owl form and true form, he noticed something… odd. A faintly glowing line trailed out and out, disappearing only at the boundary of his Self. He touched it gently and felt a sense of direction, a slight tug. He rocked back, shocked. This—this was a tether, constructed from the same raw magic which allowed him to shape-shift, and it had not been here a few days ago. In fact, judging by how faint it was, it hadn't been here a few hours ago. Creating a tether took not only a physical artifact—some object deeply linked to him by long association or strong emotion—but an immense expenditure of power. He should have noticed something, but there had been nothing.

Or had there?

He opened himself to the Labyrinth, asking it without words for what he wanted. It bowled him over, as eager as a puppy to help, but the image it showed him was of nothing within his kingdom. Rather, it was playing back the final moments of his dream, Sarah's face floating in his mind's eye. He shoved it away and asked again. Again the Labyrinth gave him the dream. This time he demanded, impatient, and again the Labyrinth thrust the dream before him. There was a slight thread of anger to its sending which gave him pause—this was what he asked for, why didn't he want it? He studied the image, trying to see what the Labyrinth had found—and saw it. Tangled around one of Sarah's upraised arms was a shred of cream cloth, one tiny portion of his owl cloak, invested with his power and his despair at her loss. He felt sure that if he examined it, he would find a tiny bare spot which had not been there the day before, and that when he transformed he would be missing a single feather.

He thanked the Labyrinth courteously, and broke the trance. Now he knew _what_ had happened. What he didn't under stand was _how _it had happened. With a sigh, Jareth heaved himself out of bed. It was going to be a long night.

Sarah quickly packed up the her tiny camp and loaded everything into her car. More than anything right now, she wanted the comfortable familiarity of her apartment, small though it was. The carefully folded scrap of fabric now residing in her pocket had unsettled her, and she wanted the reassuring normality of noisy neighbors and Thomas from upstairs deciding to practice his electric guitar at three in the morning. Never mind that these were precisely the things she had been looking forward to escaping for a few more days. Now she needed them to remind her of the real world, to give her space to think rather than simply react.

She gave her campsite one last look around, and left.

Moments later, Jareth appeared in the small clearing, the sound of the Sarah's car growling away into silence in the distance. Immense power swirled in the air, and the soft pine needles underfoot shimmered with a light coating of magical precipitate*. He could taste emotions in that power—confusion, sorrow, longing, regret. One diamond tear caught his eye. It sat perched on a pine needle, somehow undisturbed by Sarah's departure or the magic still drifting out of the air, and he stooped, quick as lightening, to scoop it up on one fingertip. The power inherent in that single salty drop was electric, racing up his spine and singing with fear and anticipation in his blood. He raised it to his lips, drank—

—and his legs went out from under him in a burning jolt as the power slammed through him, leaving knowledge behind. Laying there in the pine forest, staring up at the sky, Jareth began to laugh, wildly, joyfully, and with absolute abandon.

Finally, he would have his reward.

*High concentrations of magic in a given area lead to supersaturation, resulting in the formation of a solid magical precipitate. This precipitate retains its magical power and takes the form of a silvery powder which ignorant humans sometimes term fairy dust. The Labyrinth, being a highly magical environment, tends to be a very sparkly place. The more magical a place is, the more it tends to look as if it has been struck by a blizzard of glitter or a group of enthusiastic small children during craft hour.


End file.
